


Going it Alone

by Steadfxst



Series: On the Same Page [1]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Boss/Employee Relationship, Feelings, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Protectiveness, Situational Humiliation, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-28 13:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14450124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steadfxst/pseuds/Steadfxst
Summary: The year is 2005. Robert Mueller is Director of the FBI, and Jim Comey is his Deputy Attorney General. After the stress of the Stellar Wind debacle, Jim finds that his heat cycle has stopped...until it comes back at an inopportune time, of course.





	Going it Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doesyourmotherknowyoureanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doesyourmotherknowyoureanon/gifts).



> _A Higher Loyalty_ wrecked me, and this fic came out of nowhere. I'll probably end up on some list for writing this.

Jim is sitting at the head of the table during his daily morning briefing when it happens.

“ _Oh,_ ” he says, eyes momentarily widening in surprise.

The others in the room turn to look at him, and he realizes he’s spoken aloud. He clears his throat.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Please continue.”

The agent does. She looks a little confused at first, but she quickly finds her place again and resumes her weekly summary of her department’s activities. Jim shifts in his seat, but doesn’t interrupt again.

It was fine. He’d be fine. He’d get back to his office, make a few calls, and sort it out. It was going to be fine.

Sweat forms on his brow.

It was just a stupid heat. Sure, he thought those days were behind him now. And sure, he had no idea why it would come on so suddenly and with no warning signs prior. But it was just a heat.

He could _handle_ this.

* * *

“Really? Are you sure?”

Jim reaches up to his neck and loosens his tie and collar. There are noticeable pit stains under his arms, which he sees right after he gets himself out of his now-suffocating suit jacket.

“I’m sure.”

“Honey, I’m not sure what to tell you,” Patrice says with a gently deprecating laugh. “Do you need me to come home?”

“Well, imagine my surprise!” Jim says. “And no. You’ve been planning this trip for months. I just wanted to let you know. Don’t worry about me.”

“All you can do is call your doctor and tell him what’s happening. And tell Bob you have to leave early. You won’t do him any good when you’re in such a state anyway.”

“I’ll have you know I sat through my whole morning meeting and only slipped up once.”

He can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “That’s because you’re a good boy, Jim. Now, keep being a good boy and take care of yourself. I’m sure it’s just a fluke-y thing, but I’ll have my phone on me all day, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” she says.

Jim smiles.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

“Well, that’s highly unusual,” Dr. Barnes says.

Jim takes the thermometer out of his mouth.

“You’re telling me?”

Dr. Barnes reads the digital panel.

“99.5°. So not a fever, but higher than average. You mentioned profuse sweating, which accounts for the higher temp. And you also mentioned cramping in your lower abdominal region. Are we sure this isn’t the beginnings of food poisoning? Have you eaten anything just past the sell-by date? Maybe you are something that had been left out?”

Jim shakes his head.

“No, nothing like that.”

The doctor puts a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and pumps a few times before watching the needle tremble and stop before he deflated the cuff.

“That’s a little high for you.”

“It’s a heat,” Jim says. “It has to be.”

Dr. Barnes rifles through Jim’s file.

“It says here your last heat was in 2004. It’s not unusual for extreme stress to wreak havoc on your hormones. And you’re also within normal range for being perimenopausal.”

Jim laughs, thinking about just how much stress he’d experienced over the whole Stellar Wind debacle.

“Truer words.”

“Well, since you’re here, we might as well do a full exam to rule out everything else first.”

Jim could respect that. It was better to cover all the bases and check everything before coming to a conclusion. It’s why he liked Dr. Barnes so much in the first place: he never started with the answer; he worked his way to get to one.

Dr. Barnes checks his lungs: “All clear, but you’re breathing heavily considering you’re at rest.”

His eyes: “Responses are normal.”

His ears: “Big brain blocking view.” (It gets a laugh from Jim.)

When Dr. Barnes is satisfied, he sits down on his wheeled stool and makes a few notes.

“Well?” Jim asks. “What’s your verdict?”

He already knows, but a concrete answer would be reassuring.

“I just have one more question, and forgive me for the personal nature of it, but have you experienced any lubricating effects?”

Jim feels his cheeks heat. They were both adults, but he feels like a teenager again, talking to his doctor for the first time about his “changing body.”

“Minimal so far, but yes,” he answers.

Dr. Barnes nods.

“How long have you been off suppressants?”

Jim thinks about it for a second.

“Probably for about a year and a half.”

“Well, Mr. Comey, I hate to say it, but it appears you’re in the beginning stages of what is likely your last, or one of your last, heats.”

It’s what he assumed, but to hear it brings him no real relief. It appeared he was going to have to weather it the old-fashioned way. It wouldn’t be fair to spring a heat onto Patrice, or to ask her to come home from her mini vacation. He wouldn’t feel right asking her to cut it short.

“Forgive me again for being invasive, but do you have someone who can…assist you? There are other methods, you know, if you’re going it alone.”

Jim laughs.

“I think ‘going it alone’ is the most poetic euphemism for masturbation that I’ve ever heard,” Jim says.

It makes Dr. Barnes laugh.

“If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call.” He tears a piece of paper off of his notepad and hands it to Jim. “Here’s your doctor’s note for the Director. Though I’m sure he can tell just by looking at you what’s going on.”

Jim pockets the notes and hops off the exam table. He was too hot with his jacket on, but Bob had a certain expectation about how his agents should look and dress, and Jim wasn’t about to break protocol just because he was a little uncomfortable.

A fresh wave of slick unceremoniously rushes through him. He amends his previous statement.

He wasn’t about to break protocol just because he was _extremely_ uncomfortable.

Bob would understand.

* * *

Walking through the halls of the FBI during a heat was…an experience. And one Jim hopes to never have to repeat. Sure, he wasn’t the first one to have a mishap. “Personal matters” were always handled with the utmost discretion, and with proper notice to a supervisor that you had to leave early; there was never an issue beyond general embarrassment.

But there was something about being the Deputy Attorney General, the number two man in charge, especially someone of his age, to be the one with the unfortunate “personal matter.” He was too old for this. Too old to be caught off guard by a heat.

He swallows hard. He needed a drink of water badly. He needed to change his clothes. He needed to _get out of_ his clothes.

Bob’s secretary looks up before he even reaches her desk. Jim can only imagine the scent he’s giving off. Anyone would be able to tell he had been bonded to the same person for years and years—and that was if they didn’t know him and his wife personally—but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an attractive quality to the smell. Nature had designed it to be, after all.

“I’m assuming you need to speak to the Director right away?” Marie asks.

“Please.”

He stands there awkwardly, even more so than usual, as she buzzes him.

“Yes?” Bob’s voice says.

“Jim Comey is here to see you. I think it’s urgent.”

“Send him in.”

Marie looks up at him again.

“You can go on in,” she says.

Jim smiles gratefully.

“Thanks.”

Jim enters the room, and Bob’s head sharply turns away from his work to face him. Jim closes the door behind him to keep at least a shred of his dignity intact.

“Jim, if you needed time off, you could have just told me.”

“Believe me, I was as surprised as you are.”

Jim hands him the note and sits down across from his boss. He tries not to shift in his seat too much. Sure, he was bonded to and completely and utterly loved his wife, but Bob was a mature alpha, and the authority and protectiveness he exuded was incredibly enticing.

He had bragged about being well-behaved to Patrice just an hour ago, and already he could feel his control and resolve slipping. It would only be a matter of time before he was a whimpering mess. Though luckily his age and perimenopausal status would probably mean a less extreme heat was in the works.

Bob, despite clearly already discerning what Jim was here about, reads over the note. A desire to see the evidence, the proof for himself, was something Jim could appreciate. Though he wished Bob would hurry up.

Bob looks up when he’s finished and hands the note back to Jim. Jim pockets it in an inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“Good lord, Jim. You’re soaked through.”

Jim looks down at his open jacket. Apparently Bob’s eyes were as keen as ever.

“I’m fine. But with your permission, I’d like to go home, which I don’t say lightly.”

“Of course you have my approval. It won’t do anyone any good to have you in a state or getting everyone into a state by association.”

Jim chuckles.

“That’s generous of you to say, Bob.”

In his heyday, Jim knew his scent was strong, even with suppressants. His pheromones were heady enough that he could smell them on himself, which was unusual for an omega. But as with everything, as he got older, the scent and strength of his heats lessened. They didn’t last as long, and they didn’t affect him as strongly. In fact, the last few times, he wasn’t even sure if they were heats or he was just plain old hot and bothered. It was why he had forgone the suppressants almost two years back.

Bob gives him a rare, indulgent smile.

“Well, go on then. I’m sure Patrice is expecting you.”

Jim coughs, caught off-guard by the implicit nature of the Director’s comments. Well, if Bob was speaking candidly…

“Um, she’s actually, unfortunately, unavailable. She’s visiting her sister.”

Bob’s head tilts to the side.

“I’m not trying to stall you, but I feel I have to ask as it pertains to your health and safety, which I take very seriously: Will you be alright on your own?”

Of course, Bob was an old-fashioned alpha. He had been raised during a time when an alpha had to “protect” an omega. It was always nicer to have a partner there to look after you, Jim knows, but it wasn’t necessary for coping. The idea that Bob was feeling this way about him, though, was a bit surprising.

Jim feels his cheeks heat at the idea of Bob “helping” him, and he feels another rush of slick. It would be a miracle if walked out of Bob’s office without telltale stains on the seat of his pants. He abhorred the idea of tying his jacket around his waist like he’d had to do a few times in high school and college.

“I’ll manage, Bob. And I’ll have some privacy at home to go it alone.”

Jim would swear on a Bible that the corners of Bob’s mouth quirked in what wanted to be a grin of recognition, but it was quickly suppressed.

“You know we’re here to help you, Jim. Anything you need.”

Jim licks his lips. He’s sure Patrice would understand if he took Bob up on the offer, considering she was away, but something holds him back.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll see you out.”

Bob stands and Jim follows him to and out the door.

Bob shuts the door behind him and lets out a heavy sigh. He could admit to himself that he had a soft spot for Jim, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. Not when he scented Jim the minute he’d entered the corridor that led to his office. He wanted nothing more than to drive Jim home himself and care for him throughout the duration.

Bob swallows. Jim would be fine on his own, he tells himself.

* * *

Jim climbs into the back seat of the Bureau’s car and asks the driver—Thomas—to please take him home. Thomas, a regular driver for Jim and his family, spares a curious glance in his rear-view mirror as he climbed into the backseat. Jim tries not to feel too self-conscious about it as he loosens his tie and collar once more.

When he gets home, the first thing he does is walk up the stairs to his bedroom, strip off his sweaty clothes that were stuck to him like wet paper, and climb into the shower to wash the sweat and slick off his body. He leans against the wall under the spray, arms folded, so he could rest his head on his forearms. It felt so good to finally be clean, to be rid of the various bodily fluids that only served to amplify his awkward situation to everyone around him.

Jim lets out a sigh and finally lets himself enjoy the sensations that had been plaguing him for hours now. A pleasant tingle that morning had turned into a heavy ache, but it was one he was finding himself savoring. If this was to be his last heat, he might as well enjoy it.

He reaches a hand down to touch himself and moans softly. His brain scrolls through a number of sexual fantasies that he used just for this purpose, though he’d be loath to ever admit it. His go to isn’t anything original. The tried and true images work for a little while, but it’s not long before a stronger image pushes its way inside.

It’s Bob.

Suddenly, he has an image of Bob in his mind from earlier today. The man had looked concerned for him. Thinking back on it, he was probably on high alert. Being the kind of alpha that he was, it probably bothered him to see an omega suffer, even if that omega was as experienced and as capable as Jim considered himself to be.

Bob had said he’d help him if he needed anything.

Waves of warmth rush through him at the thought, and he tightens his fist. Bob wanted to protect him. He’d told him that Patrice was out of town. Bob didn’t like hearing that, Jim imagines. He lets his mind wander further.

What if Bob had followed him home? Just to be with him. Just to get him in bed, jerk him off, press inside him…

Jim moans aloud at the thought. He couldn’t imagine a real life scenario where Bob would ever do such a thing, but the fantasy feels good and real enough that he tries not to let his over-analytical mind ruin the experience. He bites his lip.

It barely takes him any time at all to come the first time. It had always been like that for him. The first time always happened after no time at all. It made him feel like he was twenty again. The thought makes him laugh, the sound gently echoes off the walls of the shower; how silly. How silly to think he was anything like a young man. And how silly to think that Bob would come over, just because he’d overworked himself into a heat.

Jim rinses himself off with the last of the hot water and shuts off the shower. He grabs his grey bathrobe off the hook and wraps it around him. The soft warmth is incredibly soothing to his frayed nerves. He walks back into his bedroom and lets himself flop onto his bed.

“Gosh, I’m tired,” he thinks to himself.

He tenses his limbs before relaxing them all at once, like a cat. He’d heard stretching was good for heat cramps. Luckily this one was relatively mild, so it actually feels pretty good. Although nothing would feel as good as a knot…

He’d just come, but the idea of a knot was enough for his body to display interest. Jim sighs in frustration. He turns onto his side and pulls his knees up towards his chest. Sometimes lying in the fetal position helped. He grabs Patrice’s pillow and holds it to his stomach. It’s soft and smells like her. As Jim falls asleep, he makes a mental note to call her and let her know how he was doing.

He would be happy to tell her that he was just fine.

* * *

As always, talking with Patrice helped. She always knew just what to say. Hearing her talk about her vacation was soothing. He can picture her sitting in her sister’s kitchen with a mug of tea, and he smiles.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be alright in another day or two. It hasn’t been so bad actually.”

He can tell she’s not convinced. She knows him too well.

“Do you need to call someone over?”

“I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Jim, you know you have a habit of taking care of everyone except yourself.”

She wasn’t wrong. So concerned was he about his own ego and wants getting in the way of helping someone that he often ignored what his body was begging for—food, sleep, help. She was right. He couldn’t keep doing that and expect there not to be consequences.

“What are you saying exactly?”

Because there should be no fuzz on this whatsoever.

“I’m saying you should call Bob,” she says.

Jim swallows.

“And tell him what?”

“Jim.”

“I had to be sure,” he says.

“It’s okay. I know he’ll take care of you, and I know he’s not going to try to steal you away. He already sees you more than I do!”

Jim knows she’s just teasing, and he laughs to show he understands, even if kind of stings to know the truth behind the joke.

“If it gets worse, I will,” he says. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be fine. But if I need to, I’ll call Bob, and tell him—And tell him.”

“Good. I’ll let you go so you can go do that.”

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” she says.

* * *

Jim has never lied to Patrice. Never intentionally that is. He’s always told her things with the best information he had at the time. An hour ago, he had told her he was fine. Now, not so much…

He breathes his way through some nasty cramping and seriously considers calling Bob for the first time all day. He nearly talks himself out of it yet again when more slick is forthcoming. Once the pain subsides, Jim reaches for his phone and dials Bob’s private cell phone number.

“This is Bob,” he says after three rings.

“It’s Jim.”

There’s a nerve-wracking silence that Jim is desperate to end, but he resists and waits for Bob to speak first.

“How are you, Jim?”

“Well,” he laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. “Not too great.”

Bob Mueller was no idiot. He knew his agents well, and he knew when Jim was underselling a situation. It was almost what he’d call the man’s forte. If Jim said something was “not too great,” it probably meant intervention was needed long before his call.

“I’ll come over.”

“The front door’s unlocked.”

Jesus Christ.

“Do you need me to stay on the line?” he asks, already packing up his brief case and locking his desk drawers up for the night.

“No, no I’ll be alright. Don’t—” Jim inhales sharply. “Don’t worry.”

Bob hangs up the phone with Jim and calls his driver in rapid succession.

* * *

Bob walks up the steps to Jim’s home and finds that the front door is, indeed, unlocked. Bob shakes his head. Jim leaving his home open to entry from anyone was an odd sign of poor judgement, and he worries that his delay in calling him was another. He takes his shoes off and leaves them by the door.

“Jim?” he calls, hand on the bannister that led to the upstairs rooms.

“Down the hall,” Jim replies.

Bob follows the sound of his voice and quickly finds Jim’s bedroom. He pushes the door open.

“Christ, Jim.”

* * *

It’s both a relief and a shame that Bob was here. It was a relief that his suffering was finally over, but it was a shame because he didn’t like being so open and vulnerable in front of his boss, who prided himself on extreme professionalism at all times.

“Christ, Jim,” Bob says.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he replies.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Bob moves to his side of the bed, and Jim feels the ache in his body increase. All day, he had been denying his desire to be cared for, and here was someone who wanted nothing more than to do just that.

Bob sits down beside his curled up frame and runs gentle fingers through his hair. He’d taken a shower not two hours ago, and already he was sweat-soaked again. He whimpers into Bob’s palm.

“Tell me what you need,” Bob says.

Jim closes his eyes and burrows his face into Bob’s knee and thigh. He didn’t want to have to say it out loud. Wasn’t it obvious what he needed? What he wanted? Why he’d called in the first place.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Bob says. “But you have to tell me. I’m not bonded to you.”

It’s a punch to the gut. He misses Patrice so much. This feels like he’s cheating on her, abandoning their vows, even though calling Bob had been her idea. He feels queasy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he says, shivering as though chilled with fever.

Bob sighs.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Jim?”

Jim nods his head once, and Bob stands up once more to disrobe.

* * *

Everything Bob does is methodical. He takes off his suit jacket first and hangs it on one corner of the back of Jim’s desk chair. He then unbuttons his white dress shirt slowly, and he carefully hangs it on the other corner. Then he undoes his belt, which he places over the back of the chair directly in the middle of the space between his shirt and jacket. He then carefully folds his slacks and undershirt and places them on Jim’s desk beside Jim’s laptop.

There’s something soothing about watching Bob’s process. And even though he’s sweating and producing slick and his stomach hurts, knowing that Bob had a clear head made him feel better. There was one thing, however, that Jim had to know.

“Are you going to keep your socks on?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Bob sits down on the edge of the bed again, pulls them off, folds them, and places them on top of his underclothes.

“This work for you?” Bob jokes once he was down to his boxers.

Jim smiles. It wasn’t often that you got to see Bob’s humorous side. With Jim’s permission, he climbs into bed and under the covers with his Deputy Attorney General. Suddenly, Jim sees the moment with extreme clarity. Almost as though he were floating above himself looking down.

“This is ridiculous,” Jim says.

“Don’t worry about that,” Bob says. He cups Jim’s cheek in his broad palm, and Jim sighs in relief. “The important thing is that you’re going to be okay.”

“Okay.”

* * *

In the end, Jim is glad he called Bob.

Actually, he’s really, _really_ glad he called Bob.

His issues with his pride and ego were something he had always been very honest about, and this time was no different. He hadn’t wanted to admit he had a problem. He had been convinced he could “go it alone.” He was so sure that his way of coping (or not coping) was the best. He could see how wrong he had been in every gentle touch and kiss and in every thrust and patient word Bob murmured into his ear.

It would have been foolish of him to miss out on this, especially when two of the people he was closest to in life—Patrice and Bob—had been the ones to tell him to take what they were giving him. Now he knows he wouldn’t do anything differently.

In the aftermath, Jim can admit it.

“Is it weird to say thank you?” Jim asks.

“No.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jim can see Bob smile in profile.

“How’s your knee?” Jim asks.

Bob turns his head on the pillow to face Jim.

“Never been better.”

“That’s good.”

“The real question, Jim, is how do _you_ feel?”

Jim blushes.

“I feel great actually. You know—” Jim stops and sighs heavily, as though he were trying to compose himself. Bob stays quiet, waiting for him to continue. “The doctor said this is probably my last one. Or one of my last.”

It’s easy to tell that Jim sounds a little melancholy at the thought.

“Does that upset you?”

“I won’t miss them, if that’s what you mean. It’s just that I wish—Well.”

“You wish your wife had been here instead of me,” Bob says.

“I’d sound like a pretty ungrateful s.o.b. if I said yes, wouldn’t I?”

“No, you’d sound like a _loyal_ s.o.b.”

Jim smiles.

“It was just poor timing,” Jim says. “There’s no way either of us could have known.”

“When does she return?”

“Late tomorrow.”

“That gives the both of you plenty of time to celebrate and reminisce.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do, Jim.”

Jim moves in closer and impulsively kisses Bob on the mouth.

“What was that for?” Bob asks.

“To say thank you.”

“I thought you already had.”

“I wanted to thank you again.”

Bob smiles.

“You’re welcome, Jim.”

Jim smiles.


End file.
